


grip strength

by alykapedia



Series: they grip better [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Glove Kink, M/M, Masturbation, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: The very last thing Felix expects to do on a Saturday afternoon is steal Sylvain’s gloves.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: they grip better [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759663
Comments: 99
Kudos: 425





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um
> 
> i have nothing to say for myself. i wrote this in a haze over a day, maybe? which is, incredible, given how very slowly i write. inspired by the horny sylvix twitter crew (special thanks to kat and mego who read the first bit) and the influx of gloved!sylvain content, as if that man isN'T HANDSOME ENOUGH WE HAD TO GIVE HIM GLOVES!! 
> 
> sort of a continuation of linger, and references that fic but like, not so much that it's required reading, but it would make me happy if you did, (so please do so). ive p much blabbed the entire plot(?) of this thing over on twitter, but uh here we go, part 1 of possibly...3, idk how far the horny energy will take me, we'll see
> 
> not beta-ed so like, yknow, find it in your heart to forgive me

The very last thing Felix expects to do on a Saturday afternoon is steal Sylvain’s gloves. 

But here he is, doing just that because he’s completely lost his mind and all control over his life. It was Sylvain’s fault, really. Everything was, especially this newfound preoccupation Felix had over his stupid leather gloves. Felix doesn’t want to add theft to his list of crimes, but Sylvain had left his gloves lying around in the training hall after their spar and what was he supposed to do? Just leave them lying there for someone else to find? Felix doesn’t think so. 

So he’d taken them after making sure no one else was watching, stuffed them in his pockets, and cleared out of the training hall despite only being halfway done with his sword forms.

Because the way Felix figures it, if he can just get this entire, needless obsession out of his system, he would be free from distraction forevermore. Sylvain can wear those gloves wherever and whenever he wants and Felix wouldn’t care. With the gloves in his possession, Felix can do that. He’ll use them on himself, clean them, and give them back to Sylvain afterwards, with Sylvain none the wiser.

It’s a good plan, simple and clear-cut, just the way Felix likes it.

He’s already making good progress with it too, picking his way from the training hall to the dorms, the gloves a damning weight on his back pocket. Saturday afternoon at the monastery means that everyone in the Officers Academy is busy with whatever goal the Professors had given them at the beginning of the week, so Felix is fairly confident that he won’t be encountering anyone. At least until he’s running into Mercedes and she’s catching him in her arms as he stumbles, cheeks burning because this too, Felix thinks furiously, is _Sylvain’s fault_.

_Everything is Sylvain’s fault._

“Felix! Are you alright?” Mercedes asks, fluttering worriedly even after they’ve both set themselves to rights, and Felix just barely resists the urge to snap at her. 

As it is, it’s still a very near thing. “I’m fine.” he says through gritted teeth, one hand reaching back to check if the gloves are still there. He’s not sure what he’d do if he somehow lost them in the commotion. Thankfully, they’re still very much intact, and Felix swears he can feel them searing a brand on his ass, and _fuck_ , he hates these gloves so much.

“Are you sure? You’re looking a bit feverish,” she says, keeping her hands firmly clasped around each other. Mercedes knows by now not to touch him and Felix appreciates the restraint. “If you’re feeling sick, you should—” 

“I’m going back to my room to rest,” he says, cutting her off, the lie falling easily from his lips as desire starts to churn in the pit of his stomach. 

Mercedes blinks, before breaking out into a soft smile that has Felix feeling like the worst person ever, but he’s half-hard in his pants and just about ready to jump out of his skin, and he’ll just have to make it up to her later. “Oh! I’ll be sure to tell everyone not to bother you, then.” 

“That’s not,” _necessary_ , Felix almost says, because the last thing he needs is anyone else being privy to what he’s doing, but then again, given how nosy the people in his class are, it’s probably a good idea to have Mercedes drive them off, lest Ingrid or, goddess forbid, Sylvain comes knocking on his door. “Thanks, Mercedes.” 

She waves off his thanks with a, “it’s no trouble at all, Felix,” before _finally_ walking away, and Felix manages to wait until she turns the corner before running up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he goes. 

He barely remembers walking down the long corridor leading to his room, everything else disappearing into a haze that only clears up when he’s locking his door behind him with a satisfying click and dragging a chair in front of it for good measure. And oh, it would be so easy to just throw himself onto his bed and get on with it, to put on the gloves and get his hands around his cock, mind running a mile a minute thinking about what Sylvain would say and do, like he had all those days ago, but for once, Felix doesn’t want something fast and unsatisfying. 

If he’s really going to do this, Felix is going to do it well and he’s going to do it right. 

So he forces himself to take a deep breath, unclenches his jaw, and sets about preparing himself. He leaves the gloves on the foot of his bed, dark against his bedspread, and starts to strip. Any other time, he’d be throwing his clothes on the floor, but Sylvain’s always been a neat-freak, and so Felix finds himself carefully folding his shirt and vest, his pants and smallclothes receiving the same treatment. He’s thrumming with anticipation, fire in his veins and desire licking up his spine, and by the time he’s taking his hair out of its bun, skin damp and smelling faintly of lavender, he’s completely hard and already leaking against his stomach.

And then it’s a matter of settling in on his bed and putting the gloves on, which he does so with quick efficiency, only to stutter to a stop at just the first one because, _fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck._

Felix knows that Sylvain’s much bigger than him, he’s known that his entire life. He’s spent an entire childhood being the smallest one, and even if he hadn’t, _he has eyes_. But knowing it and hell, even seeing how much taller and broader Sylvain is compared to him, is so much different to _this_. The glove is almost comically large on him, and it would be funny if Felix isn’t immediately hit with lust at the very real reminder of just how much bigger Sylvain’s hands are.

He’s shaking with arousal, falling apart at the seams, what’s left of his coherency taking a deep dive to the gutter, as he pulls on the other glove and _finally_ , finally gets a hand around his cock. 

“ _Ah!_ ” 

It's different. 

It's so, so much different. 

His fantasies can't even begin to compare to how the real thing feels like. The leather is smooth just like he’d imagined, sure, but there are differences in sensation where the leather is more worn, smoother on the places Felix assumes are in direct contact with a lance—and he’s letting out a choked up laugh that transforms into a moan as he imagines Sylvain over him, behind him, handling his cock like he would a lance, and _oh, fuck, that’s hot_. It’s not as sleek of a drag as he’d thought it would be too, and he manages one, two, three more strokes, aided only by the precome leaking from his slit, before he’s blindly reaching for the bottle of oil he keeps under his pillow. 

The oil is cold when it hits his skin, startling him out from the haze of lust he’s worked himself into. It’s enough to remind him that while he’s not being very loud, voices still tend to carry in the dorm rooms, and the last thing Felix wants is for anyone to overhear. So he swallows down the last of his shame, along with a flood of saliva, and sucks two fingers into his mouth. 

Instantly, he’s assaulted by the taste of leather, warm and earthy on his tongue, with an undercurrent of something spicy he recognizes as Sylvain’s perfume, filling his mouth and overtaking his senses. Felix moans, muffled by his fingers, sinking back into the syrupy want coming to a boil in his belly. He reaches down for his cock again, spreading the oil as he sucks on his fingers, sloppy and graceless, imagining them to be thicker and longer.

With his eyes closed, he can easily see Sylvain above him, smirking down at him with pupils blown wide. And the sight of Sylvain, infuriating and so unfairly handsome, in his mind’s eye makes it easier to slide his other hand lower, drag his fingers teasingly along the sensitive skin of his balls, down to his perineum, until he reaches the tight furl of his hole. 

_Oh, sweetheart,_ the Sylvain in his mind says, lips pulling down into a pout that has Felix fitting another finger in his mouth to muffle his moan. _You’re wound up so tight_ , Sylvain continues, and as if to spite him, Felix slips a slick finger in, right to the knuckle, the leather bunching up and rubbing deliciously against his rim.

“Shit.” It’s tighter fit than usual, and Felix has to take in a few breaths to relax, wiggling his finger so that his body gets used to the intrusion. And all the while, Sylvain is cooing, offering obscene commentary as he works himself up to two, three fingers, until he’s fucking himself on them effortlessly, each thrust dragging a breathy moan out of his bitten lips. “Ah, _ah_.” 

_Slow down, baby,_ Sylvain is saying, and _fuck_ , Felix hates the petnames so much, but they almost sound good knowing that Sylvain is using them on him. Just him and no one else. _I don’t want you hurting yourself before I even get you bouncing on my cock_ , Sylvain whispers, and Felix has to drag his fingers out of his mouth to let out the shocked moan it punches out of him.

“Ffff— _ahhh—u_ ck!” 

Sylvain chuckles, a mean, little thing that gets Felix harder, leaking precome all over Sylvain’s spit-slick glove. _You’d like that, huh? Fuck, you’d look so good taking me in_ , Sylvain groans, as if he’s really imagining it, really thinking about sitting Felix down on his cock and fucking him. _I’ll be so much bigger than your fingers, baby._

Felix doesn’t doubt it. Sylvain has no shame at all, especially in the sauna, and Felix has gotten more than an eyeful of his cock, and _fuck_ , he wants it so much, wants every filthy thing Sylvain is whispering into his ear.

 _Can you imagine it? Your tight little hole spread wide around my cock_. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Felix chants, both hands now working in tandem to get him to completion. He curls his fingers inside him, feeling for that spot that has him seeing stars each and every time while he pumps at his cock, twisting his wrist with every rough upstroke, the whisper of leather making every slide electric.

 _Come on, come on,_ Sylvain says, frantic now, practically panting in his ear as if he’s also hurtling towards the precipice. Felix can feel it, a familiar tightness in his stomach, balls drawing up, and he just needs something, a little bit more to push him over the edge, and then Sylvain says, _come for me, Felix._

And he _does,_ vision whiting out as he comes all over his chest, screaming a litany of curse words and one damning name until his throat is sore.

“ _Sylvain!_ ” 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, to have an imaginary sylvain whisper filth in my ears
> 
> pls validate me and water my crops


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain knows.
> 
> Felix isn’t sure how, but Sylvain knows that he’s lying about the gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls take this as my humble offering sjadhksjadh i hope everyone likes unresolved sexual tension bc that's all you're getting from me this time *ugly laughter*
> 
> no beta. you're getting this fresh off the presses bc im determined to die like glenn.

The next day arrives much too soon for Felix’s liking.

He’s sleep-deprived and irritable—well, _more_ irritable than usual, at least—having spent the rest of yesterday holed up in the library, looking through all the books Garreg Mach has to offer on the subject of leather care and maintenance (which hadn’t been a lot), and then the rest of the night cleaning Sylvain’s gloves and wiping away any and all evidence of what he’d done to them, only to find out in the early hours of dawn that the oil he’d painstakingly rubbed on them all night was not meant to be used for leather. 

And now Felix has a pair of gloves that now fit perfectly over his own hands because he’d managed to shrink them overnight _like a fucking idiot_. 

“Shit,” he hisses, voice loud in the silence of his room as he looks down at his hands, encased snugly in the gloves—a damningly perfect fit—when just yesterday, they’d practically dwarfed them. The gloves had shrunken at least three sizes smaller and couldn’t possibly fit Sylvain. Felix had not only defiled them (and gotten defiled by them in return, if he’s being completely honest), he’d also ruined them irrevocably, and there's no way he can return them to Sylvain _now_. “Damnit.” 

It’s like he’s six again and accidentally ripped the cover off of Sylvain's book, all because he'd wanted to find out what was so interesting about it that Sylvain couldn't put it down to play with him. He remembers crying for hours after, only stopping when Glenn assured him that it can be fixed and said in a no-nonsense tone, “ _Sylvain will forgive you anything_.” 

And while that had been true then, Felix isn’t sure about now, but well, he can still fix this, just like he’d done with Sylvain’s book all those years ago. He’s just gonna have to replace the gloves, make up some excuse about the old ones, and Sylvain never has to find out what really happened. 

Easy. 

With that plan in mind, Felix peels the gloves off, ignoring the sudden rush of want in his belly at the sensation as well as the image of Sylvain doing the same _but with his teeth_ , stuffs them underneath his pillow—out of sight, out of mind—and then starts to get ready for the day. He goes through his preparations by rote, only straying from his routine to grab the gold he’d put away for a new knife, before rushing out of the dorms and towards the dining hall just as the monastery bells start to chime.

It’s a later breakfast than what he’s used to, and he eyes the already long line in front of the cooks with trepidation, but it’s fine, Felix can deal with lines. What Felix can’t deal with right now is people talking to him, which is of course what he gets in the form of Claude von Riegan, because the goddess hates him and wants him to suffer.

“Hey there, Felix,” Claude starts, falling into step beside him, tone too friendly for someone Felix has never talked to outside of training exercises and the requisite seminars, that Felix can already feel his hackles rising in suspicion. “Do you have a moment?” 

“No,” Felix bites out, keeping his gaze straight ahead in the futile hope that Claude will leave him alone if he ignores him. 

His hopes are, of course, unfounded and quickly dashed, because Claude is quirking an amused smile at him as if to say, _are you sure about that,_ before shrugging and saying, “ah well, and to think I really wanted to talk to you about our—ah—very thin shared wall, but hey, if you’re too busy…” Claude trails off, smiling beatifically as if he hadn’t just dealt Felix a finishing blow, “then I should go.”

Before Claude can so much as turn away, Felix is pulling him back in with a hand on his arm and hissing, “What do you want, Riegan,” even as his entire face burns, because Claude has another thing coming if he thinks he can blackmail Felix—

“Ooh, that’s a nice expression you’ve got there.” Claude whistles, all flippancy and nonchalance. He deftly slips out of Felix’s grip, throwing an arm around his shoulder instead, and if Felix isn’t still reeling over the fact that someone, that _Claude_ could have possibly _heard_ him yesterday, he’d be twisting that offending arm right off, but he is, and it’s all he can do not to spontaneously combust right then and there. “Relax,” Claude is saying, voice pitched low as he steers them to the front of the line to get their food. “I really just wanted to remind you that the walls are, as I’ve mentioned, very thin in the dorm rooms, and while I don’t mind the ambient noises while I read, others might not feel the same.” There’s something about the way Claude says _ambient noises_ , something obscene that makes it very, very clear that Claude had _definitely_ heard him, and _goddess_ , Felix can never show his face to anyone _ever again_. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t want anyone overhearing you either, so next time try to keep it quiet.”

And then Claude is squeezing his bicep, smiling a smile that Felix wants to punch right off his face. He manages to gather enough of his wits about him to spit out, “there won’t be a next time,” before he’s quickly interrupted by a warm, familiar hand closing around the back of his neck, a proprietary grasp that has his next breath stuttering in his throat.

Because it’s _Sylvain_ , and Sylvain has no business touching him like that, much like Felix has absolutely no business getting hot and bothered over it especially since Sylvain isn’t even wearing _the stupid gloves_. But if Felix is being honest with himself, which he’s trying not to be at this very moment, this thing—this obsession that yesterday’s exercise was supposed to banish forever, stopped being about the gloves the moment Felix started imagining Sylvain touching him. If Felix is being honest with himself, it was never about the gloves, but he really can’t be bothered to examine _that_ now, because he can’t even breathe, much less think, not with Sylvain pressing up behind him—a broad furnace against his back. 

“Morning, Fe, I didn’t see you at dinner last night,” he says with a ridiculous pout, before turning to Claude with an expression Felix has never seen on him before. “Claude, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Claude says airily, giving Felix a look like he’s supposed to _know_ what the hell Claude is implying, except Felix can’t be expected to know shit, because Sylvain is dragging his thumb back-and-forth against the hollow behind his left ear and Felix is going to _die_. “Just being friendly. Fostering some inter-house camaraderie with Felix over here.” 

Behind him, Sylvain makes a low humming sound that Felix feels in his very bones with how close they’re pressed together. “Is that so?” 

“Yep,” Claude says, popping the _p_ obnoxiously, and throwing Felix a wink that has Sylvain’s grip on his neck tightening. “You can check with Felix though, since I’m being summoned by the lovely Miss Goneril.” And then he’s prancing off, practically skipping away towards the Golden Deer’s usual table, leaving Felix and Sylvain to stare after him in bemusement.

A beat of silence passes, and then another, as the tension Felix didn’t even know was there dissipates at Claude’s retreat. “Didn’t take you as the type to make friends,” Sylvain muses, hand finally falling away from Felix’s neck, and ridiculously enough, Felix feels immediately bereft.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, making his way to their table where Ingrid was already eating, shaking off the leftover nerves and willfully ignoring how he’d definitely gotten half-hard all because Sylvain had touched him, like— _like he owned him_.

“It’s a joke! Come on, Fe!” Sylvain calls out, following after him and it’s a familiar enough scene, but Felix feels irrevocably changed, thrumming with an energy he doesn’t know how to get rid of as he sits down. “But seriously,” Sylvain continues, sliding into the seat beside him, and it takes a while for Felix to parse through what Sylvain is saying because he was pretty sure they were talking about Claude and not— _not where he was last night._ “You weren’t at dinner last night and you also weren’t in your room when I brought you food.” 

Well, _that’s_ news to him. “That was you?” He’d assumed it was Mercedes, but there _had_ been a noticeable lack of vegetables on his plate, which now makes sense—Sylvain did like eating his vegetables for him. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I wanted to,” Sylvain returns easily, as if it’s as simple as wanting to do things and then actually doing them. “Mercie mentioned you weren’t feeling well yesterday, but apparently you were well enough to not be in your room.”

Frowning at Sylvain’s accusatory tone, he grits out, enunciating each word slowly, “I was at the library.” 

“The library,” Sylvain echoes and he couldn’t look more dubious if he tried, which okay, fine. He doesn’t go to the library that often, but it’s not so weird that Felix would be there last night, right? “What were you doing there?” 

“I was reading,” because what else did people do at the library? Felix scowls, annoyance finally winning over whatever else he’s feeling about Sylvain. “Are you done with your interrogation now?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “Or do you have any more pressing questions for me?”

Because he’s an asshole, Sylvain actually looks as if he’s thinking of another question to ask, but thankfully, before he can ask them and force Felix to dump his gratin on Sylvain’s lap, the rest of their class arrives, filling in the empty seats and the silence around them. And it’s not long before Felix finds himself pulled into a conversation with Mercedes and Annette, and Felix can almost pretend it’s a normal Sunday morning if not for the way he can feel Sylvain’s gaze boring into him. But Felix is done talking to him for now and he doggedly keeps his attention far, far away from Sylvain and—

“Oh! Sylvain, you’re not wearing your gloves anymore?”

—the gloves.

 _Fuck_.

At Annette’s question, everyone on their table (except for Felix) turns as one to look at Sylvain’s bare hands.

“Finally realized you look like a total scumbag wearing them, huh?” Ingrid asks, and for once Felix wishes he shared her opinion.

Sylvain gasps, clutching at his chest in mock-offense. “Ingrid, you are breaking my heart,” he warbles, wiping at nonexistent tears, before reaching over to tug at Annette’s braid. “And, no, Annie, this is hopefully just temporary,” he says, wiggling his fingers and _saints_ , it shouldn’t be as hot as Felix’s mind is making it out to be. “I misplaced the gloves yesterday. Although, I swear I remember leaving them at the training hall.” 

“Felix was at the training hall yesterday,” Mercedes offers. “Have you seen them, Felix?”

“I haven’t seen Sylvain’s stupid gloves,” he says, keeping his voice level and his hands flat on the table, because he _knows_ his tells, and Felix refuses to be caught on this lie. “Maybe he left them somewhere else.” 

From the corner of his eye, Felix sees a smirk unfurl on Sylvain’s lips and feels his stomach drop to his feet.

“Maybe.”

.

Sylvain _knows_.

Felix isn’t sure how, but Sylvain knows that he’s lying about the gloves.

And it’s this singular thought that propels Felix through his trip to the marketplace—an exasperating two-hour long journey that nearly ends in blood and Felix almost getting banned from the local tannery forever—and back to the monastery, a few hundred gold coins poorer, but now in possession of a pair of expensive leather gloves. He’s pretty sure they’re even nicer than Sylvain’s old ones; smooth black leather with burgundy stitches, butter-soft and supple to the touch, and it’s only the memory of why exactly he needed to buy Sylvain a new pair that has Felix stuffing the gloves back into their box.

With the gloves safely in hand, Felix takes a deep calming breath as he stands in front of Sylvain’s door, drumming up the courage to finally knock. He’d meant to go straight to the training hall, maybe spar against someone so he can work off the restless energy building up inside him, but he figures that the sooner he can give the gloves to Sylvain, the sooner he can put all this behind him.

Felix’s knuckles have barely grazed the door before it’s being pulled open and Sylvain is blinking down at him with wide eyes.

“Fe?”

Tamping down on the urge to just throw the gloves at Sylvain and call it a day, Felix clears his throat and asks, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sylvain steps back, pressing against the door and motioning Felix in with a nod of his head. “What’s up?” He asks once he’s locked the door behind him, voice barely above a whisper, and Felix weirdly enough, suddenly feels as if he’s been cornered despite standing in the middle of Sylvain’s room.

“Here,” he says, swallowing down the dryness in his throat as he holds out the box to Sylvain, who takes it with confusion writ clearly on his face. “I found your gloves yesterday at the training hall, but I accidentally dropped them in the sewer,” he starts, the excuse he’d come up with during his trip to the marketplace spilling out of his mouth when Sylvain opens the box and sees the gloves. “And when I tried to clean them, I—uh—ended up shrinking them instead.” This time, he forces himself to meet Sylvain’s eyes, hoping the eye contact would lend some credence to his lie.

Sylvain huffs out a laugh, a fond smile brightening his features and Felix feels his heart jump inside his chest. “You know you didn’t have to buy me new ones, right?” Sylvain asks, and Felix almost misses his next words as his brain trips all over itself at the sight of Sylvain putting the gloves on, a perfect fit, like the gloves were made just for him. “And these look expensive too.”

“Whatever,” Felix manages and he can barely hear himself through the rush of blood in his ears. “It just means I won’t have to buy you a birthday present this year.”

“Guess not.” Letting out another chuff of laughter, Sylvain stalks closer, and the sensation of being cornered like some hapless prey returns to the forefront of Felix’s mind as Sylvain places a hand on the desk behind him, easily boxing him in. “Thanks, Fe.”

“I—” Felix stutters, ducking clumsily under Sylvain’s arm, and making for the door before he does anything dire _like kiss Sylvain_. “I have to go.”

“Actually,” Sylvain begins, spinning around and catching him with a hand on his chin, thumb pressing down on the plush curve of Felix’s bottom lip before slipping in, _in, in_ as the next breath leaves Felix in a shocked moan. “Why don’t you stay and help me break these in, _sweetheart_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA oh, felix, darling babycakes, we're not done with u yet


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just what?” Sylvain prompts, his damned hands dragging along the sensitive insides of Felix’s arms, touching fleetingly down his sides, never straying near where Felix wants them the most. “You gotta use your words, baby.”
> 
>  _Fucker._ “Touch me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO BAYBEEE
> 
> ohmygod here we go. uhhh writing this made me realize how much i handwaved the sex scenes in a LOT of my older fics hhhhhh god this was a ride to write, and i hope it's as much of a ride to read i guESS 
> 
> no beta we are dying like mr glenn fraldarius

Felix’s world stops and then narrows down to _this_ —Sylvain’s glove-covered thumb, _no_ , fingers now, sliding deeper into his mouth, the taste of leather coating his tongue and filling his senses, Sylvain’s eyes darkening, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains, and the look on Sylvain’s face, hungry and covetous, as he watches Felix choke on his fingers—and the spark in his belly ignites into a flame, has him going hard so fast that he’s dizzy with it, knees buckling at the sudden rush of blood to his cock. He’s vibrating out of his skin, flushed and wanting, hungry for something more than Sylvain’s fingers fucking his mouth, hungry for whatever Sylvain is willing to give him.

Felix has a feeling that Sylvain will give him _everything_ , but _only if he asks_.

And Felix is terrible at asking for things.

“Oh, Felix,” Sylvain croons softly, like a dagger hidden under silk, sweetly, as if he doesn’t have two fingers down Felix’s throat, as if he’s not manhandling Felix with a bruising grip on his jaw and another squeezing at his waist, dragging him around to sit on Sylvain’s neatly-made bed. And Felix can only follow, drooling messily around Sylvain’s fingers, so aroused he can’t even begin to think straight. “I do hope you’re not this easy for everyone else,” he murmurs, and the notion is so ridiculous that Felix is immediately pulling away, some clarity cutting through the haze of his arousal, because _what?_

“Fuck you,” he hisses, entire face burning as he wipes at his mouth, indignation building up in his chest and spilling out. “It’s not—it’s just you!” There’s no one else who can annoy Felix as much as Sylvain does, no one else Felix would allow to get under his skin, and Sylvain is a fucking idiot if he thinks Felix would let just anyone see him like _this_. “This is all because of you," he says, before quickly adding, "and your stupid gloves,” because it sounds too much like an admission without it, a confession that Felix isn't ready for. 

It's still too obvious, he knows, and Felix is already bracing himself for Sylvain's reaction, but instead of smirking that insufferable smirk that Felix hates with a passion, Sylvain is making a strangled sound deep in his throat before he’s grabbing at Felix's jaw, angling his face upwards, and then Sylvain is kissing him, licking into his mouth like a man starved, until all of Felix's thoughts fall to the wayside. It’s hot. It’s ten different kinds of hot and Felix can’t believe he hasn’t done this before, hasn’t been kissing Sylvain this entire time—it’s a miscalculation, an oversight on his part, because kissing Sylvain is a rush. His blood is thrumming in his veins, liquid heat pouring into him with every kiss, every lick, and every teasing graze of Sylvain’s teeth on his bottom lip, and Felix doesn’t even try to smother the needy whine that crawls out of his throat when Sylvain pulls back for air. 

“Fuck,” Sylvain gasps, looking down at him wonderingly, eyes all pupil, red-faced and disheveled. It’s a good look, and the fact that Felix is responsible for Sylvain looking like _that_ makes it even better. “You were made for kissing, aren’t you?” The question is nonsensical and stupid, and so Felix doesn’t bother answering, pulling Sylvain down by his jacket and swallowing down his surprised laugh.

And it seems to be all the invitation Sylvain needs—as if he ever needed any—to push Felix down on his bed, hands already making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. Felix isn’t even sure when he lost the vest, only that he has and Sylvain’s taking his shirt off now, sucking kisses on the underside of Felix’s jaw as he goes. He doesn’t know how Sylvain’s doing it, multitasking as easily as breathing, when Felix can only hold on for dear life, hands finding purchase on Sylvain’s ridiculously broad shoulders as Sylvain touches him, gloved fingers teasing at the seam of his lips once again, while his other hand tugs his pants down, down, down, freeing his already leaking cock and circling the base and— _wait a damn second_.

“Take them off,” he says shakily, voice too breathy to be commanding, but it’s enough for Sylvain, who pauses in his quest to leave a gigantic mark on Felix’s neck that his collar would have no hope of covering, hands settling on Felix’s waist in the slightest whisper of leather as he shifts from where he’s straddled over Felix’s knees. Felix thinks the action is meant to be grounding, but all it does is remind him of just how big Sylvain’s hands are, how easily they can keep him in place while Sylvain fucks him, how Sylvain can just manhandle him however he wants, use Felix to polish his cock. “Take the gloves off.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sylvain squeezes at his waist, making Felix whimper, cock drooling precome all over his belly. “Why?” He asks lightly, squeezing again at Felix’s waist, hard enough that the muscles in his forearms flex visibly, and _fuck_ , Sylvain’s such an asshole and Felix shouldn’t be getting off on this, but he _is_. “I thought you liked them.”

Felix does, he likes them a little bit too much, which is why he’s in this mess in the first place. 

“They’ll get ruined.” And Felix has spent way too much gold on those new gloves to let that happen. Again. He’s learned his lesson. Bodily fluids and leather do not mix, which is honestly such a shame because the leather feels heavenly on him and in him.

“You didn’t drop my gloves in the sewers, did you?” Sylvain asks, tone teetering on the edge of something Felix can’t put his finger on but has his breath hitching, nipples pebbling in the cool air, and somehow, Felix knows that Sylvain knows exactly what he did with the gloves, even as he continues to push, “What did you do with them, Fe?” 

Scowling at the nickname, Felix squirms, reaching for Sylvain’s hands to get him to do something, anything, only for Sylvain to catch him by the wrists, pinning them above him with one hand before letting go. Like he expects Felix to stay put just because Sylvain wants him to. “Sylvain,” he bites out, and he can easily ignore the unspoken request, but he doesn’t want to, just like he doesn’t want to answer Sylvain’s question. “Will you just—”

“Just what?” Sylvain prompts, his damned hands dragging along the sensitive insides of Felix’s arms, touching fleetingly down his sides, never straying near where Felix wants them the most. “You gotta use your words, baby.”

 _Fucker._ “Touch me!”

Sylvain hums, shifting slightly and Felix can feel just how hard he is, the thick line of his cock hot against Felix’s thigh, but even then Sylvain just settles leisurely on his knees beside Felix as if they had all the time in the world. “I don’t think so,” he muses, pulling Felix’s pants further down and off, along with his boots and smallclothes, leaving him bare on Sylvain’s sheets. “Not until you tell me what you did with my gloves.”

It’s a promise, an ultimatum, and Felix just knows that Sylvain really will refuse to touch him if he doesn’t start talking.

So he does. “I touched myself.”

With a knife-sharp grin, Sylvain moves quickly, hands going back to Felix’s waist as he hauls him up on his lap. And then he’s throwing Felix’s over his thighs so that Felix is all spread out, completely exposed, hole twitching under Sylvain’s heated gaze. “Where?” Sylvain asks, looming over him, the heat of him a hairsbreadth from touching Felix’s sensitized skin and it’s all Felix can do to keep his hands still, fingers grasping desperately at the sheets. “Here?” Sylvain whispers, the smooth leather of his gloves dragging deliciously up Felix’s chest until he’s _fuck_ , pulling on Felix’s nipples.

And _oh_ , _oh_ he hasn’t touched himself here, but he doesn’t bother telling Sylvain that, too busy gasping, moans spilling out of him as Sylvain continues to play with the stiff nubs, rubbing at them until they’re red and swollen, plump like ripened fruit, until Felix is blinking back tears and panting like a bitch in heat.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so sensitive,” Sylvain says and has the audacity to coo at him as he twists Felix’s nipples viciously, making Felix scream as pain and pleasure shoots down his spine and straight to his cock. “I wonder if I can make you come just from playing with these,” the words are whispered against his heated skin, and Felix lets out a gasp that quickly turns into a moan as Sylvain licks a hot stripe over his nipples, sucking each one into his mouth gently, as if to soothe them. “I think I can,” Sylvain murmurs, dark eyes spearing into Felix. “I think you could.” And _goddess_ , he might be right, but Felix wants Sylvain’s cock, wants to be fucked until he’s stupid or else he’d go crazy.

“ _Syl_ ,” he whines, and is instantly rewarded with Sylvain’s hips bucking up against him, Sylvain’s clothed cock rubbing against his hole, a filthy promise that Felix will be sure to collect on.

“Maybe next time,” Sylvain says after he’s reined himself in, leaning back on his haunches once more. And Felix would whine again, if only to get Sylvain close, but Sylvain’s hands are already on him, one on his hip while the other goes back to encircling his cock. This time, Felix doesn’t get the chance to tell Sylvain to take the gloves off because the breath is stolen from him as Sylvain pumps his cock roughly, the squelch of leather on slick skin deafening in the room. “Did you touch yourself here too?”

Letting out a choked moan, Felix nods, hips moving in time with Sylvain’s hand. 

“Where else?” Sylvain pants, digging his thumb at the spot under the head, vicious and mean. “Tell me, darling.”

“You know where!” Felix yells, any and all qualms about anyone overhearing them thrown out the window as Sylvain teases him mercilessly.

Sylvain frowns, sticking his bottom lip out in the exact same manner Felix imagined him doing just yesterday. “I don’t,” he whispers, beseeching, tone at odds with the furious way his hand is moving over Felix’s cock. “You have to tell me, baby, or I won’t know where to touch you.” And when Felix doesn’t talk, Sylvain just stops, hands falling away as Felix yells in indignation, and _oh fuck him so, so much_ , he _hateshateshates_ Sylvain.

He digs his heels into Sylvain’s sides to no avail; the bastard doesn’t even budge one bit. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sylvain quips back with a crooked smile, eyes dancing as he watches Felix, gaze a physical touch, waiting for Felix’s next move. “Now, where else did you touch yourself while wearing my gloves?” He asks again, even though he already knows the answer, if the way he’s shifting Felix on his lap is any indication, practically bending him in half and exposing Felix’s entrance to the cool air and Sylvain’s heated gaze even further. 

Breath leaving him in a shuddery exhale, Felix hides his burning face in the crook of his elbow, and says, “my hole.”

“Goddess, that’s sexy,” Sylvain rumbles, drawing in impossibly closer, so close Felix can feel his breath against his drawn-tight balls. “And is that what you want now? Want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

Felix sobs, embarrassment momentarily forgotten in the face of finally getting what he wants. Part of it, at least. “Yes, _please_.”

“Good boy.”

And before Felix can even take another shuddering breath, Sylvain has a slick finger rubbing against his rim. Sylvain has lost the gloves, somehow, and slicked his fingers up in between all of that, and Felix turns from his elbow to watch, breathless, as Sylvain pushes his finger inside. It’s obscene, the sight of Sylvain’s fingers sinking into him just as he feels himself opening up. He’s still a bit loose from yesterday, and Sylvain’s finger slides in right to the knuckle, making them both moan.

“Fuck, Fe,” Sylvain says, strangled, pumping his finger in and out, each slide dragging deliciously against Felix’s walls. “You took that so easily,” he continues, a second finger joining the first. It’s a tighter fit this time, Sylvain’s fingers thicker and longer than his, but the slide goes easier with every thrust as Felix opens up, as if his insides were shifting to accommodate more, something bigger than just fingers. “You’re swallowing me right up.”

And _goddess_ , that’s yet another thing that Felix shouldn’t find stupidly hot. “Sh-shut _up_ ,” he hisses, because the dirty talk is objectively terrible. It’s terrible and it shouldn’t have Felix’s cock drooling more precome onto his belly, shouldn’t have his insides clenching, milking at Sylvain’s fingers, and shouldn’t have Felix hurtling ever closer to release with every obscene promise dripping out of Sylvain’s smiling mouth.

“Can’t wait to have you around my cock, baby,” Sylvain groans against his thigh, but before Felix can spit out a caustic remark, another finger is sliding in, stretching him further than ever before, and whatever he’s about to say dissolves into a moan that’s quickly muffled by Sylvain’s fingers. “Gonna wreck your pretty little hole,” he promises, already in the process of doing just that as he fingers Felix to within an inch of his life. Every thrust glances just so at that special spot inside Felix, teasing him, working him up even further.

It’s too much and not nearly enough even as Felix teeters over the edge, mouth sucking feverishly on three of Sylvain’s fingers, his slick and swollen hole doing the same. 

“Look at you,” Sylvain gasps, somehow still talking, but the words are lost to Felix as the angle of Sylvain’s thrusts changes, this time hitting that tiny bundle of nerves inside him straight on. It has Felix whining, hands finally abandoning their post above his head to pull Sylvain’s fingers deeper down his throat until he’s choking on them, tears leaking down his temples. “Stuffed at both ends and still.” Sylvain pauses to lean down, hunching over Felix to mouth at his weeping cock, tonguing at the slit as he renews his assault. “ _So fucking greedy_ ,” he hisses, each word punctuated with a jarring thrust until Felix is coming with a muffled scream, striping Sylvain’s chin with his release, entire body tensing up for half a breath, before falling into a boneless heap on Sylvain’s lap.

He takes a moment to bask in his orgasm, stretching out in satisfaction over Sylvain’s lap and the mussed up sheets, before turning his gaze to Sylvain, who’s still flushed and obviously aroused but has done nothing more than wipe him down, hands idly massaging Felix’s thighs. There’s still heat in his eyes, but it’s tempered now with an affection that Felix doesn’t really know what to do with, because it feels far too precious for whatever this is they’re doing.

So Felix raises an eyebrow and asks, languid in a way he doesn’t really feel, as the familiar stirrings of want start up inside him again. “I thought you were gonna sit me down on your cock?” He asks, the words clumsy on his tongue.

“Fe,” Sylvain huffs out a disbelieving laugh, raising his own eyebrow in reply as he waves a hand over Felix’s everything. “You’re a mess.”

“And you’re still hard,” Felix volleys back, rubbing his ass against Sylvain’s cock and asking, looking up straight into Sylvain’s eyes, “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

And just like that, whatever’s left of Sylvain’s control snaps and the next thing Felix knows, he’s being hauled up, manhandled to his knees so that he’s hovering over Sylvain’s lap as Sylvain fumbles with the ties of his pants. Clumsy. “You’re such a brat,” Sylvain is saying, complaining, and Felix can’t help the mean, little laugh he lets out at that, because they both know that Sylvain likes it, if the way Sylvain’s cock leaks precome all over his inner thigh is any indication.

He watches as Sylvain makes quick work of slicking himself up, licking at his suddenly dry lips, because this close, Felix can clearly see just how big Sylvain is without the steam from the sauna clouding his vision. He’s thicker than three fingers, that’s for sure, and a part of Felix worries that he’s not gonna fit, but it’s quickly drowned out by the very urgent need to have Sylvain inside him right now.

“Hurry _up_ ,” Felix whines, tugging on Sylvain’s hair as Sylvain tugs him down with a hand on his hip, guiding him lower until he can feel the head of Sylvain’s cock kissing his hole. “ _Sylvain_ ,” he hisses, blinking back furious tears when Sylvain holds him there for a small eternity, teasing him still, and he continues, “I’m not going to bre _aaahK_ —” only to choke on his words and bravado as Sylvain _, the complete and utter bastard_ , unceremoniously drags him down on his cock, barely letting up, filling Felix up fit to bursting, only stopping when Felix is fully seated and filled to the brim with his cock.

“What was that?” Sylvain asks, smoothing a hand over Felix’s shaking flank. “Did you say something, sweetheart?”

He can feel Sylvain everywhere, around him, inside him, can feel the throb of his heartbeat where they’re connected and _fuck_ , Felix has never felt so _full_. “ _Shut up_ ,” he gasps, trying to catch his breath and failing, because Sylvain’s cock has pushed all the air out of him.

“You’re so mean to me,” Sylvain says, deceptively sweet as he mouths at Felix’s neck, licking down his collarbone before latching on to a plump nipple, making Felix cry out and clench tight when he bites down and sucks. “I really shouldn’t be giving you my cock.”

Except that’s a big, fat lie because Sylvain is starting to move, little, harsh rolls of his hips that stirs Felix up, the head of Sylvain’s fat cock catching against that spot inside him that has him seeing stars every single time.

“Sylvain, _please_.” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, hands clawing at Sylvain’s shoulders as he grinds down on Sylvain’s lap.

“Patience, darling.” As if Felix has any more to spare, but he stays put, watching in confusion as Sylvain wipes his hands down on the sheets and puts the gloves back on. “Now, take a deep breath for me,” Sylvain instructs, left hand settling on Felix’s hip as if to ground him while his right comes down to deliver a stinging slap on Felix’s thigh.

“ _Sylvain!_ ”

Sylvain gives him another slap, the leather hitting his skin with a loud thwack, and it hurts, _fuck_ , _it hurts_ , but it has Felix’s cock standing up in attention, hard again and smearing precome all over Sylvain’s stomach. “Fuck, Fe, you’re squeezing around me so tight,” Sylvain groans, and it’s the last thing he says before he finally, _finally_ starts to fuck Felix in earnest.

And it’s like Sylvain has seen through him, has read his earlier thoughts, because gloved hands are gripping Felix by the hips, moving him up and down on Sylvain’s cock, using him like a toy, like he’s a glorified cocksleeve just for Sylvain’s pleasure.

“Feel so good around my cock, like you were made just for me.”

It doesn’t mean anything, Felix knows, it’s just another terrible line, but it’s what has him racing over the edge again, has him coming so hard he nearly blacks out at the force of it, balls aching, spots dancing in his vision as he clamps down like a vise around Sylvain, who manages, one, two, half a dozen more thrusts before he’s biting down on a yell against Felix’s shoulder, coming deep inside him with a shudder and a flood of warmth that Felix swears he can taste in the back of his throat.

When Felix comes to, he’s sprawled out on his belly, and Sylvain is behind him, spreading the cheeks of his ass with a little interested hum that Felix should honestly be too fucked out to acknowledge. But his cock twitches underneath him anyway as he feels Sylvain’s spend drip sluggishly out of his sloppy hole, and Felix resigns himself to his fate.

The words, when he finally manages them, are slurred into the sheets. “What’re you doing?”

“Cleaning you up,” comes Sylvain’s flippant answer, and as if in demonstration, a finger slides back inside Felix, scooping out the come that Sylvain had filled him with so that it drools out of him and onto the sheets. “I was gonna do it with my mouth.”

Felix shudders and shifts, spreading his legs as much as he can. 

“Carry on, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE!! YAY!! this thing took a decade off my life jfc
> 
> um thank u all for joining me in this ride to give felix a bunch of sexy orgasms hAHAHAHA this isn't rly the fic where they discuss feelings and such but there ARE Feelings(TM) involved but it's gonna take these idiots a few more dickings before they have that "oh" moment
> 
> /rolls away


End file.
